


we don't have to miss each other (come over)

by ama



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Other, Post-Canon, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: Leckie returns to New Jersey after the war. And then he sets out for home.
Relationships: Wilbur "Runner" Conley/Lew "Chuckler" Juergens/Robert Leckie/Bill "Hoosier" Smith
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	we don't have to miss each other (come over)

**Author's Note:**

> An old tumblr snippet I still enjoy. Now that apparently the Team Leckie OT4 tag on AO3 is an actual thing, I thought I should do my bit.

He packs on autopilot. A week’s worth of socks and underwear. Four dress shirts. Four t-shirts? It seems like both too many and not enough. Three pairs of trousers and one jeans. He doesn’t know if he needs ties at all, but he packs two and that seems like too few, so he rolls another and tucks it in. It’s cold out here, and it will be colder there–he’s heard it’s windy–so he packs two sweaters and a sweater vest. He stares down at the suitcase and thinks it looks too empty. It looks like he doesn’t think he’ll be staying long. But at the same time, it seems stupid to bring more when he lived for four years on a lot less.

Books. He packs three books in the suitcase and shoves a paperback in the pocket of his coat. He’ll bring his typewriter, too. That will help; you don’t bring a typewriter anywhere unless you’re planning to stay for a good long time.

“You left her, didn’t you?” his mother asks from the doorway.

“What does it matter, Ma?” he asks. He picks up his socks and his t-shirts and switches them so he has an excuse to look at the suitcase instead of his mother.

“Because. Earlier you said it as if _she’d_ left _you,_ but it was the other way around, wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t working out. Vera agreed. Sometimes things don’t work out.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long, silent minute. Leckie smooths a hand over his t-shirts. One of these is from the Navy hospital in Long Island. He’s not sure which one. It’s the only thing he has from the Marine Corps, really, except the stiff dress uniforms, one blue and one olive green, that he’s leaving in the closet.

“When did it stop?”

His left wrist twitches. There’s a timer on the inside of it, hidden beneath the band of his watch. It reads 00:00, and it has ever since the day he walked into a barracks room at Parris Island and collided with Runner coming out, when Chuckler had stood and said “oh, hey, Leckie, this is–” and Hoosier had looked over his shoulder at them and suddenly his skin was burning with white heat.

He hadn’t even noticed how close it had been getting to the end. He had been so exhausted during boot camp that he never checked.

He doesn’t say anything to his mother’s question, but he stops the pretense of packing, too. He stands still and stares into nothingness with his heart pounding. He can’t tell her _anything,_ because if he says a word, then it will all come pouring out. How long its been, who they are, how much he’s missing them, how desperate he is to be gone. His mother sighs and Leckie closes the briefcase. He slips his coat on and turns around to pack up the typewriter. He puts it beside the suitcase, on the bed, and looks around to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything. The telegram is on the nightstand, and he picks it up and slips it in his pocket.

“Can you at least tell me where you’re going? And how long you’ll be away?”

_1036 N. Honore St Chicago. I’ve asked everyone.  
Please come. I miss you.  
Chuckler  
_

“Chicago.”

Leckie picks up a case in each hand and walks over to the door. His eyes lock with his mother’s, and for a moment her gaze is sharp and he thinks she’s going to press the issue. But then she steps aside to let him pass. He steps over the threshold and kisses her on the cheek.

“I’ll send a postcard,” he promises. She nods.

He doesn’t bother asking for a ride to the train station. He walks out of the house and into the night, and it feels like the timer is ticking again on the inside of his wrist–or maybe it’s just the eager pounding of his heart.


End file.
